Shattered Hearts
by Blood Angel
Summary: Um... I was bored and this is what happened.... It takes place after the original series. Van misses Hitomi, Dilandau his slayers. I might make this a yaoi. You'll just have to see! Please R&R!
1. A Piece of My Heart Lost and Found

I have no idea where this is goin'  I was bored one day so I wrote it….  If it's any good R&R and I'll continue k? 

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Escaflowne…. Don't sue… you know… the usual…

Shattered Hearts ~*Chapter 1- A Piece of My heart lost and found*~ 

The sun glistened off the silvery waters of the smooth, marble fountain of the deep forest greens of the beautiful privet garden of the beloved King of the Fanelia. Three smooth marble tombstones flashed the reflection of the young king.  He knelt, not moving for over an hour, paying his respects and speaking to his now gone, beloved family.  Sighing, he lifted his numb body, straightened his posture, and stiffly bowed 3 times to complete the respect.  

Taking one last look at the beautifully carved gravestones, decorated beautifully with a variety of different colors and exotic flowers, he turned and walked slowly away.

From behind a thick, dark, group of bushes, a pair of crystal blue eyes followed the kings every movement.

"He's doing it again…" 

the dark figure heaved a great big sigh, giving away her hiding spot.  The king swiftly turned around, hand on his sleet hilt of his sword, standing gracefully in a battle stance, ready for anything.

            "Who's there?"

he demanded not moving anything but his own lush lips.  Carefully, slowly, trying not to trigger His Majesty's anger, to make him make a rational decision of slicing her into a million, little bite-sized pieces with only several easy slashes of the dangerously sharp sword of his, right then there.

            A hooded figure rose from the bushes slowly.  It's long ankle-length robe swished slightly in the wind.  It's face dark and unknowing. The figure descended from it's hiding place gracefully, the king not moving a muscle.  The hooded figure slowly lifted it's long arms up to it's hooded head, the long sleeves of it's robes rolled down slightly revealing two bony, pale, furry hands.  It slowly pulled down the hood; it's hands trembling slightly and then fell down to its sides.

            "M…M"

The king stammered, shocked he stared and he dropped his sword, only inches from his thin shoed feet.  

The woman was tall, and thin, too thin to be healthy.  Her face equally thin and pale, just like the cold white skin of her hands.  Her face…  surrounded in dirty, shoulder-length pinkish hair, two thin black lines reaching from the middle of her cheeks to both of her big, light pink, cat-like ears.  They twitched, and then lowered, almost touching her chin.  She was dirty, and looked exhausted.  Her eyelids drooped slightly, but were opened enough to get at least a glimpse of her crystal blue orbs. Those eyes… were beautiful, just beautiful… maybe with tiredness in them, but were still full of kindness and love, the gentleness of the woman she was… now all grown up.

"Merle"

the king softly whispered as if the slighted movement would scare her away, out of his arms again, out of his reach. 

            Merle was everything to him, the closest thing to family left on this world, but then she left, gone, never seen again… until now.

            "Lord Van…"

she breathed.  Her legs finally gave in from all her tiredness and she fell into his arms.  He caught her, lifting her slowly.  She had fainted.  Van's, Van Slanzar de Fanel's, king of all Fanalia, eyes filled with tears of happiness, filling rapidly, threatening to fall at any moment… when they did.  He wept quietly, hugging her close to him.  A piece of his heart had come back to him, found him, out of so many lost.  Father, Mother, Folken his brother, Balgus his faithful teacher and friend, and……… Hitomi…


	2. Even Enemies have Hearts

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Escaflowne…. Don't sue… you know… the usual…

~*Chapter 2- Even Enemies have Hearts*~

The dimly lit room smelled of ash, dried blood, and aged walls.  Only lit with small touches the color of blue and green.  A fairly young boy, about the age of 17, silvery hair, dressed in blood red armor, sat on a throne of dark wood and velvet, lying there in a lazy position, eyes closed.  If one didn't know better they would think he was asleep, and if tried to wake would be very… very deadly.  Mumbling softly to him himself, he sat there, like every other day.

            "Slayers"

was all one could hear, but barely because was so softly spoken.

            "Slayers"

he called out a little louder but quite enough to be called a hoarse whisper, but his only response was only the soft sound of his breath.

            "Slayers!!!!"

he yelled, so loud that would hurt ones ears.  He waited a moment when he could hear the soft clicking of several pairs of boots running quickly on the hard stone floor in his direction from outside in the hall.  Just a moment later almost 40 young men had rushed into the room forming 5 straight lines.

            "Lord Dilandaul!"

they all said at once.  Dilandaul got up slowly and examined the men, his men.  

            "Who am I?"

he said softly, barely even moving his lips.  The Slayers were used to this ritual, their leader would ask this everyday, and then after assign at least 3 hours of unstop training.

            "Sir Dilandaul Albatou sir!"

again said together.  There was silence, nothing could be heard except the heavy breathing of some of the Slayers in the back, obviously that had to run all the way upstairs from downstairs.

            "And who are my elites?" 

Dilandaul spoke breaking the silence.  All of the Slayers' eyes went wide.  They're master had never spoken about his elite team before for two long years, and none of them dared to speak even a name of them in fear of being slapped or killed.  One of them unfortunately had and was killed by his own master's hand.

            His elite team was the 6 most brave, loyal, and strong warriors of all Giea.  Chesta, Gatti, Viole, Miguel, Dalet, and Guimel. All of this ended when they died.  Died by the wrenched hand of the king of Fanelia, Van Slanzar de Fanel, and even after, the elite's souls could be seen, still watching over their beloved master, their beloved Lord Dilandaul. 

            "Thought so."

Dilandaul sighed silently.  He turned around to face his men.

            "Go…."

His white, pale hand reached up to his crystal white hair and brushed it gently from his blood red eyes.  His golden crown worn upon his pale forehead, shone brightly, and reflected the images of the confused looking Dragon Slayers standing before him.  The ruby jewel placed in the middle of the golden crown shown as much as the crown itself, like a Zabach dragon's eye eying it's prey before it attacked and gobbled it up in it's massive mouth.

"I SAID GO! LEAVE!! I DID NOT CALL YOU! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!"

He yelled unexpectedly, almost screeching that his throat hurt.  The Slayers jumped and quickly ran out of the room as fast as their armored feet could let them.  Some still looked confused while other just looked terrified.  When their Master Dilandaul was mad… he was mad, and no one could even think the slightest of what he might do.

            "The elite should be honored with respect for their bravery, not forgotten…"

he whispered more to himself while walking slowly to his throne, head hanging low.

            "Chesta, Gatti!"

he called straining his ears, hopping to hear those two lovely voices of the two light headed elites, wishing he could hear them once more… just once.  Silence.

            "Miguel… Guimel… Viole…. Dalet… anyone!!"

he screeched… but again silence.  His head still hanging low he whispered again

"The elite should be honored with respect for their bravery, not forgotten….why can't I?"

And with that, tiredness overdrew him from all the sleepless nights, he fell asleep, a tear struggling to fall from the corner of his eye.

            The damp, dark room was quite, nothing could be heard but the soft breathing of a sleeping general.  If you there, at that very moment, and just stood there quietly not moving or making just a single sound, you just might have been able to catch six soft airy voices call gently, a touch of sadness in all of them, yet the owners could not be found, flowing as if it was carried by a gentle breeze, as if an invisible angle had breathed into your ear with great sorrow.

            "_Lord Dilandaul…"_


End file.
